


A Little Fall Of Rain

by castielofasgard



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Drunkenness, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 01:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7412983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielofasgard/pseuds/castielofasgard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras finds Grantaire drunk in the rain and brings him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Fall Of Rain

It had been a long, wearisome night. The meeting had stretched on for hours because no one could focus. The weather had been horrible for days and everyone was getting restless from being trapped indoors all day except for the frantic races from place to place, trying to stay dry. Enjolras didn’t mind getting wet, especially not tonight. He needed the fresh air, the cold water on his face. It woke him up and kept him alert. And he would have a fire to dry off by when he got home, and a warm bed.

He had just turned the corner onto the street where his flat was when something caught his eye. Something moving in the shadows, curled up in a corner between a building and a pile of rubbish. Enjolras frowned and moved closer, squinting against the rain and darkness. It was a man, wet and shivering and obviously drunk. Enjolras’ heart sank. He would recognize that mess of black curls anywhere. He sighed and knelt down, placing a gentle hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. 

Grantaire looked up at him. His eyes took a moment to focus, but the moment he recognized Enjolras, a strange expression passed over his face; something between joy and sorrow. He lifted a bottle to his lips and took a swig. Enjolras gingerly pried the bottle from his hand and tossed it onto the rubbish pile behind him, then put an arm around Grantaire’s shoulder to drag him to his feet.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” he said.

They barely made it three steps before Enjolras realized that Grantaire wouldn’t make it all the way to his own flat. Sighing again, he led him instead to the end of the street. Grantaire leaned heavily against him as he fumbled for his keys and opened the door. The stairs were a challenge and it was at least five minutes before they made it to the landing. 

Enjolras opened the door to his flat and led Grantaire inside, taking him straight to the bedroom. He set Grantaire on the edge of the bed, where he swayed unsteadily as Enjolras fetched him a towel. He draped the towel over his shoulders, but Grantaire as good as ignored it. Enjolras bent down to slip off Grantaire’s waterlogged shoes, then stood back up and gently began to dry him off. Once he was considerably less soaked to the skin, Enjolras pulled back the covers and coaxed Grantaire into bed, then set to work building a fire. 

He changed out of his own drenched clothes and hung them over the back of a chair to dry. He had just finished pulling on a dry pair of trousers when Grantaire murmured something. Enjolras froze and turned to him. Grantaire mumbled again.

“Thank you.”

Enjolras went to his side and knelt next to the bed. Grantaire gazed blearily at him, a small sad smile on his face. He reached out and traced Enjolras’ cheekbone with one finger.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered. “Like the sun. So bright I can hardly stand to look at you, yet I can’t bear to look away.”

Enjolras swallowed hard, knowing he should move away. Grantaire was drunk, words were spilling out of him like wine. He would surely regret it in the morning, if he even remembered it. But Enjolras was rooted to the spot.

“I’m just the moon,” Grantaire continued, his voice hoarse. “I only shine when reflecting your light. Without you, I wane to nothing. Just cold, black darkness.”

“You need to sleep,” Enjolras said. It was all he _could_ say. “Sleep, Grantaire. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Hesitating a moment, he ran a hand through Grantaire’s damp curls before standing up. He went into the kitchen and fetched a bucket, then came back and placed it next to the bed. Grantaire may have been a seasoned drunkard, but Enjolras didn’t much feel like risking him vomiting on the floor. He stood there for a little while, watching as Grantaire sank into a fitful sleep. Then he crossed to the other side of the bed and slipped beneath the blankets.

 

***

 

Grantaire awoke the next morning with a splitting headache. Even with his eyes closed, the world felt like it was spinning around him. And yet he felt more comfortable than he usually did when he crashed into bed, drunk beyond recognition. Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes. This wasn’t his flat. The room was unfamiliar, the bed so much softer than his own. He rolled onto his back and a gleam of gold caught his eye, shining in the early morning light that streamed through the window. He turned his head and found Enjolras sleeping to his right, his golden hair glowing like a halo against his pillow. He seemed so much smaller and softer in sleep than the marble monument he was when awake.

Grantaire remembered now. Enjolras finding him in the street, soaking wet. Taking him home, drying him off, listening stoically as Grantaire compared him to sun. A twist of embarrassment knotted in his already queasy stomach and he rolled back over to the edge of the bed to vomit. He took a few shuddering breaths and dried his mouth on the back of his hand. Suddenly he felt a soft, gentle pressure on his back, rubbing comforting circles between his shoulder blades.

“Are you alright?” Enjolras asked quietly.

Grantaire nodded and swallowed, closing his eyes to savor the feeling of Enjolras’ hand on his back.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

He felt Enjolras shift a little closer as he continued to gently rubbed away the tension. Grantaire relaxed, sinking into such a state of contentedness that he nearly drifted back to sleep. But this was Enjolras, and he couldn’t let his guard down that much. Not again.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said at last, rolling over to face him.

“You’re my friend and you needed help,” said Enjolras. “There’s no need to apologize.”

“I meant… the things I said. I was drunk, I –“

“The moon is beautiful too, you know,” Enjolras interrupted. “It’s much gentler than the sun. Softer, easier on the eyes. More sad, perhaps. And yes, it does only shine when the sun’s light hits it. But even as it shrinks, we still call it beautiful. And when it’s gone, we miss it, so when it returns we are all the more glad to see that little sliver of light smiling in the sky.”

Grantaire stared at him, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers over Enjolras’ cheek, so light it must have tickled. Enjolras didn’t move, just stared at Grantaire, his expression soft yet unreadable. Slowly, Grantaire moved closer, testing the waters. Enjolras didn’t pull away. The tips of their noses touched and he was suddenly aware of how strongly his breath must smell of booze and vomit. But Enjolras still lay there unmoving, staring into Grantaire’s eyes in a way he had never seen before. Then finally, Grantaire closed that final gap and their lips met.

It was over in an instant, and he immediately felt horrified with himself. He had destroyed everything and Enjolras would surely never want to see him again. But even as he thought this, he realized that Enjolras still hadn’t moved away. He still lingered there, breathing in Grantaire’s ghastly breath, but the look on his face was nowhere near as stoic as it had been. He was surprised, definitely, and… he looked almost pleased?

“Don’t stop,” Enjolras whispered.

“Are you sure?” said Grantaire.

“Completely.”

Head spinning and heart dancing, Grantaire leaned in and kissed him again.


End file.
